


crashing into you

by fridgefish



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Fluff, Happy Ending, Lighthouses, M/M, brandon has legs lol, quasi mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 19:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fridgefish/pseuds/fridgefish
Summary: Something about the scene made Matt’s heart break. Or no- not break, but something more painful and sharp, like his insides were being welded together. He hated weather like this. It made him think of awful things. But now as Brandon tenderly took his hand and turned it so that his palm faced skywards, his head was clear of everything but this very moment.Matt pushed the hood of his slicker back and let the rain fall on his head. Brandon laughed, delighted, and rubbed his hair which was drenched in minutes. Matt closed his eyes and let his head fall back.“See?” Brandon said, “You love this too.”“I love this,” he repeated. “I love this, too.” It was the truth.
Relationships: Brandon Carlo/Matt Grzelcyk
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	crashing into you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abellyofjelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abellyofjelly/gifts).

> so this was going to be a halloween fic but then i rewrote the whole thing and now it's this. i hope you enjoy. :)

Matt took another swallow from his flask, two sips after he’d said he would stop. It was late October, and the storm that had been raging against his piece of island had turned from gloomy to downright frightening over the course of the evening.

The cold rain lashed at the glass of the lighthouse from all angles, and even though he’d just made repairs last week, it was as if the bitter chill cut right through his bones- heat from the beacon be damned. The whiskey burned hot in his throat, a welcome sensation after hours of the storm. There was no telling how much longer it would last.

Waves crashed onto the rocks around him with a roar. The heavy cloud cover made it impossible to see, and he could barely make out the horizon in the distance. 

The rest of the night passed in a frightful haze. The storms never really got any less harrowing, even after three years on the job. He moved without thinking, he kept the beacon lit. That was all he could think about, because if he thought too much about the enormous waves shaking the lighthouse as they crashed against it on this tiny island, well. It wasn’t the best time to be alone.

The storm broke hours later, and he was freed from his sort of dizzy stupor as the weak light of a cloudy dawn broke over the horizon. He looked out at the still white-capped sea, and there were no ships in sight.

But there on the rocks below lay a pale body. It almost glowed against the black rock. And it was entirely motionless. 

He’d thought he’d gotten through the storm without incident. Was there some boat he just… hadn’t seen? Or maybe this body was from another ship, further out, and was just now washing to shore. 

“Shit. Shit. Fuck.” Matt muttered. This was his least favorite part. Getting the bodies. “Fuck. Fuck.” There wasn’t anyone due to visit for another three weeks. Which meant that-

“Fuck,” he hissed, throwing himself down the spiral staircase. He dashed down, grabbing his rain slicker on the way out the door, then jogged out to the rocky edge of the island. The rock was slick and abandoned by all life this close after such a violent storm. Matt futilely wished that there were at least some birds here to be with him while he dealt with this. 

The body was a man, Matt could tell fairly quickly. His dark hair stuck to his face in dried salt water clumps. His clothes were torn to tatters, and the shreds of his thin off-white shirt only halfway covered his chest. There were no shoes on his feet, and his head was was thrown back on the rock.

“Hey,” Matt whispered. He really, really didn’t want to do this. “Hey.” He took a step closer to the body. 

Miracle of miracles. His legs moved, just slightly, but a distinct sign of life nonetheless. 

“Hey, hey hey,” he scrambled to kneel over him, his boots slipping everywhere, “You with me?” He put a hand to his throat and felt underneath his jaw. There was the steady thrum of a heartbeat. He really wasn’t even sure how that was possible. “Okay. Come on, let’s get you dry.” 

Getting him back to the lighthouse was going to be a challenge. The guy was considerably taller than he was, mostly in the legs, and it was at least another hundred yards back to the entrance. Nevermind the stairs. Every time this sort of thing had happened to him before, he’d just drag the body back, because you just didn’t survive getting tossed up on this island.

Matt took a deep squat and pushed his arms beneath the guy’s shoulders and behind the back of his knees. He grunted as he lifted him up and towards his chest, trying to make it in one smooth effort, but he staggered backwards from his own force. The man was light- he probably didn’t break a hundred pounds. It was like he had hollow bird bones, or something like that. Even though the weight wasn’t too much to handle, it still took some effort to haul him back to the lighthouse. The rocks were as slippery as butter and he didn’t like the way the man’s head would loll around if he took too big of a step. 

“What happened to you?” Matt murmured as he made slow but steady progress back. His voice was rough from disuse. “You fall off a boat in that storm?” He watched the face in his arms for any sign of movement. 

When he finally reached the door, he leaned against the frame for a few minutes to catch his breath before starting up the spiral stairs. They were continually rusty from the water that always managed to make its way into the bottom of the lighthouse during a storm, but they improved in quality as he ascended. 

“What I got is not much, but it’s better than being out there,” he panted, pushing into his stone-walled room with the man still cradled against him. “So here’s hoping that when you wake up, you’re not angry and you speak English.” His eyelids flickered at that. 

Dear God, please don’t be French.

Matt deposited him as gently as he could manage onto his side on top of his own bed. He cringed slightly at the thought of getting his bed wet, but he couldn’t bear the thought of putting him on the cold floor. 

There was nothing on him that could help identify who he was if he never woke up. No dog tags, nothing in his pockets. His shirt- if you could even call it that- was hanging in soggy shreds, sticking to his chest. Matt stood over him with his hands on his hips, considering. Then he pulled out a knife from his pocket and carefully cut the collar and down the front so he could peel the cold, damp fabric away from him. He’d dry off faster this way. 

Matt lifted him up slightly to pull the back of the shirt out from underneath him when he realized that he was wounded. Or no- not wounded, but-

There were twin splits along his ribs on his side, and upon closer inspection, another pair on the other side. Like fish gills. That’s exactly what they looked like. He could see the red of his flesh just underneath, but he wasn’t bleeding. Okay.

Matt fumbled around for an hour after that, going back and forth between the kettle he’d put on to boil, the fire, and the man- or the- or whatever he was. He had things to do besides just keeping the light going at the top of the lighthouse; there were different responsibilities he had for the national science group. He measured the water temperature daily, took samples of the flora, and recorded wind speeds. Essentially, he knew his way around a fish. Which is why he was so curious about this man who had washed ashore.

The newcomer regained consciousness at an inopportune time. Matt had his hand underneath his nose, feeling the warm air that was steadily escaping with each breath, while watching his gills for any movement. How in the world was this guy breathing? He must have lungs as well as an aquatic respiration system, but then why would his gills be on the sides of his chest? 

In the midst of these questions, he was met with a pair of blinking blue eyes. He showed no signs of panic, although he put a hand on the bed and attempted to prop himself weakly before flopping back onto the pillow.

“Hey,” Matt said as he backed up, as unthreatening as he could muster. “How are you feeling?” 

He turned to face him, which was a great sign, but he looked at Matt with a completely blank face. Less of a good sign. 

“Would you like some tea?” Matt stepped towards him slowly, glancing back at the mugs on the side table. “Also if you feel up to it, I can give you some clothes to borrow, since yours are kinda messed up.” That didn’t work either. The man just stared. “Damn it. Do you speak French?” he asked. His pronunciation was terrible, but he still remembered enough from the war that they could make this work if they needed to. 

“No.” he finally said. He pushed some of his dark hair out of his face in a somewhat noble way.

Matt sized up the situation. He must know _some_ English. Best to continue with regular formalities, just in case. “I’m Matt,” he replied with an outstretched hand, which Brandon just looked at. “I’m the lighthouse keeper. You washed up on my island.” 

There was a long pause where Matt waited for Brandon to continue, to take his turn to say something about himself, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched like a hawk as Matt picked up his steaming mug of tea and blew into it before taking a careful sip. He then picked up his own mug and copied Matt’s actions almost exactly. 

“So uh, where are you from?” 

His head jerked up when Matt spoke, like he’d forgotten he was there. “I’m from the sea.” 

Holy shit. Maybe he _was_ like, a mermaid or something like that. “What’s your name?” 

He tried again to sit up, with more success this time. “I don’t have a name in your language,” he replied solemnly. He spoke with only the barest accent. 

“Well, I’ve got to call you something, right?” Matt said with a shy smile. He couldn’t help the warm feeling that bubbled up in his chest when the man on his bed returned the smile back, easy as anything.

“Then what will you call me?” There was a lilt in his voice now, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. 

Matt only had to think for a moment. “I’ll call you Brandon.” 

He nodded slowly, lifting his mug close to his face and breathed in the steam that rose from it. “I like that. Why Brandon?” 

“Well,” Matt said, scraping a chair across the floor from the table to the side of the bed, “when I was in the war, a man saved my life who’s name was Brandon.”

“And now you’ve saved my life,” Brandon said as he set his mug back on the table before he closed his eyes and lowered his head back to the pillow. A moment passed between the two of them. Matt didn’t know what to say next. He still had a thousand questions, but he didn’t know where to start. “Where are we?” Brandon asked quietly without opening his eyes. 

Brandon was being very still, Matt noticed. “This is a lighthouse. We’re on an island off the coast of the United States, in the Atlantic ocean.” Maybe he knew what those things were? He spoke English, after all.

“Are there other people on this island?” 

“No, just me. And you. It’s very small.” 

A crease appeared between Brandon’s eyebrows. 

“What?” Matt huffed out a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I was supposed to go to the mainland. But I got caught in the storm, and-” 

“What were you trying to get to the mainland for?” Matt interrupted. He couldn’t help it. 

Brandon stopped short and opened his eyes slowly. “So, breathing air is new for me. Also, I’m certain I hit my head on something when I washed up. So if you swear you won’t kill me, I will swear to explain everything after I sleep some more.” 

Matt stood up so he could pull the blanket back over Brandon. They could work on getting him a shirt when he woke up. “Swear I won’t kill you. Now rest.” 

Brandon slept, and Matt flipped through every encyclopedia he had looking for something to explain what was happening. There wasn’t a single entry on anything like this- only references to legends of mermaids and sirens luring sailors to their certain deaths. 

“You don’t like singing, do you?” he quietly asked his sleeping visitor.

___________________

“Are you ready for me to explain?” was the first question of many that Brandon had when he woke up that following morning.

Brandon was here because where he came from, when a person reached maturity, they went to the surface to live for some unspecified amount of time to “learn.” Or, at least that’s how he explained while weakly chewing at a buttered biscuit without much interest. 

Matt wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to be learning, but whatever. This was the most interesting thing that has ever happened to him in his entire life. He didn’t particularly care what he was supposed to be learning, but he’d do his best to teach him whatever it was he wanted to know. 

“Is this gonna be okay, with your…?” Matt said, holding up a thin shirt for Brandon to inspect the next morning as he gestured towards Brandon's ribs. The material was the most breathable and soft he had, just in case that’s what he needed. 

Brandon nodded, taking Matt’s hand instead of the shirt. “See,” he said, bringing Matt’s fingertips to run gently down the gills on his side, “I don’t need them for now. It doesn’t hurt. This is good.” He slipped the shirt on over his head. It miraculously fit well. Brandon smiled gratefully towards him. 

"Ah. Well," Matt said, swallowing down whatever feeling was happening inside his chest. "I have a lot of stuff to get done today. So you can come along, and I guess I'll just show you as I go?"

It was fascinating what things he already knew and what things he didn’t. 

The teapot was new, and so was the ability to make your own hot water, and things like tea and coffee. He liked tea, but spit the coffee everywhere when Matt offered him a spoonful. 

Matt knew every inch of the rock he lived on. It was more familiar to him than any other person or thing. But it all became new again as he thought of more and more things to point out or explain to Brandon, who was the most attentive pupil imaginable. However, there wasn't a single thing about the ocean for Matt to explain that Brandon didn't already have some kind of knowledge of. Maybe a different understanding, from a different perspective- and he had different words for the fish and plants, but he certainly knew what they were and what function they served. 

He reached down to dip his fingers in the ice-cold water, and the silvery fish that had gathered there darted away from the disturbance. When Brandon mimicked his actions further down the beach, the little fish bumped into his fingers playfully, swimming around him like they knew him already. Matt could only watch, incredulous. He had the impulse to write these things down in his log book, but there was no way he would ever be believed. 

He squinted against the sun back towards the lighthouse towering in the near distance, it's white base striking in the autumn morning light. "So, would you say you're more of a fish or more of a guy?" he asked impulsively. 

Brandon laughed. "You know, that is not a question I have ever been asked before." 

"Well?" 

"What do you think?" Brandon said, rolling his eyes. "Am I so ugly that I look more like a fish than a man to you?" 

"Wh- _no,_ I-" Matt felt his face heat. "You know that's not what I meant, c'mon now-"

"What if I told you I'm cold blooded?" Brandon said, obviously trying not to smile.

Matt looked him over, his linen shirt fluttering in the wind. He looked human by all accounts except for what he could only describe as an internal sense of _difference_ that was entirely intuitive. "I wouldn't believe you." 

"You're right." Brandon smiled. "I'm a- what's the word?" It only took a moment for him to retrieve it. "Oh. Mammal. Does that make you feel better?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. A little." 

"Would you believe me if I told you I could talk to fish?" 

Oh, he had to be fucking with him now. 

"Actually, you know what?" Matt replied, starting to walk further down the beach. "I'm not going to answer that. And don't tell me. I'm just going to believe that you can, because I want to." When he looked back at Brandon, he had pinched his lips closed with his thumb and index finger. It looked incredibly undignified on an otherwise regal individual, and Matt didn't stop the giggle that bubbled out of him. 

“What?” Brandon said with feigned innocence around his fingers. “I’m keeping my secrets.”

Matt was done with all he needed to do with his measurements, but Brandon seemed so delighted by the waves crashing on the shore that they spent the rest of the daylight hours in the surf. Matt bemoaned the fact that there wasn’t enough real sand to build a sandcastle, which proved to be difficult to explain. 

He couldn’t do anything but watch as Brandon laid down on the very rock that he washed ashore on, tipping his head to soak in the warm sunlight on his sea-pale skin, really feeling it for the first time in his life.

___________________

“How do you know so much?” Matt asked at the end of that first day, after Brandon had nearly worn him out. He wasn’t used to being around another person. Especially not a person with a curious appetite that would rival a toddler. It was a crystal clear night, thank god, with a bright full moon. There was plenty of acetylene left to keep the light lit until morning.

“I have studied my whole life for this time on land.” he replied casually, like that didn’t somehow cause a thousand more questions to come to Matt’s mind.

“But why? You’re going back to the ocean eventually, right?”

Brandon turned away from him. “Yes, eventually.” He opened his mouth like he was going to start another sentence, but then closed it upon second thought. 

“What are you here for?” Matt asked again. Surely there was a _reason._

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably across from him at the kitchen table. “It’s different,” he muttered, clearing his throat minutely. “Being here. Than I thought it would be. You are different.”

It was clear that he was done discussing the topic, and after that admission, Matt decided he wouldn’t push it. He wasn’t sure that he was really the “different” one in this equation, but he would take it as a compliment. It made him feel nice, anyway. He watched Brandon finish the fish and push around the green beans on his plate after nibbling at one. 

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Matt asked, pulling his pipe out of his jacket pocket. 

“Smoke?” 

“Uh…” How do you explain smoking? “Just tell me if it bothers you.” 

Brandon nodded, and looked on as Matt struck a match and lit his pipe, taking a few quick puffs before a long drag. He turned his head to blow the smoke away from Brandon, just in case. 

“It smells good, I think,” he began, clearly fascinated. “Can I try it?”

Matt took another slow pull from the pipe. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?” He sounded put out, which was hilarious in it’s own right. His first thing to be denied of on land. 

“It would be bad for you,” Matt said, standing up and taking their plates to the sink. “Make you cough.” 

Brandon frowned. “Then why do you do it?”

“Okay, it’s bedtime for Brandon, no more questions.” Matt grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it towards him. “Sleep wherever you want.” 

He turned and pulled on his sleep clothes around the relative privacy of a corner before going to wash his face in the sink in the kitchen. When he looked back, Brandon had curled up on the couch with pillows all around him. He’d taken the pillows from the chair and his own bed which. Weird. But okay.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

Brandon was already asleep.

___________________

The next morning, Matt woke up slowly, stretching and slowly coming back to himself until he realized that Brandon was still here. He sat up, feeling something close to giddy.

“Brandon,” he said, testing to see if he was awake. He could see his leg move out of the corner of his eye. “Get up. I want you to try toothpaste.”

___________________

"So you were in a war?" Brandon asked when there was a lull in conversation. Matt was wiping down the glass panels that surrounded the light at the top of the tower, and Brandon was looking over the railing out towards the ocean.

"Yeah," Matt said cautiously. 

Brandon hummed. He didn't turn around from where he was staring into the distance. "What did you do before that?" 

"You mean as a job?" 

"Sure." 

"I didn't have a job before the war. I mean, sometimes I raked leaves for pocket money, and one summer I delivered newspapers. I was in school." He finished wiping down the pane he was working on and moved to the next. 

"Did you come to live here right after, then?" Brandon asked, shy. He hadn't been shy to ask a question since he'd washed up on the rocks. 

"Mhm. Pretty much directly." 

Matt looked up to see Brandon chewing on his lip. "You didn't want to go back to the mainland?" 

"No," he sighed. "When you're a kid in the war and you don't know anything, you get put where they need bodies, not brains. So most of the people I went over with didn't come back with me. So no. I didn't want to go back to the mainland." 

Brandon's eyes were wide as he stood in shocked silence. 

Upon second thought, he should've just lied to him, he'd probably just introduced the idea of war to some kind of creature living in a utopian society and now he'd have to live with _that_ guilt as well, and-

"What were you fighting for?" Brandon asked, not more than a whisper. 

"That’s enough for now." His voice came out louder than he wanted, but he didn't stop to turn as he made his way back down the staircase to his room.

___________________

They enjoyed three more days of great weather. The days were short, but they got all the sunshine they could soak up. Brandon was always up at dawn, ready to look over his shoulder as he fixed them a little breakfast.

“Do you always live here by yourself?” He asked around a mouthful of hashbrowns. He was getting much more agreeable about eating ‘land food,’ as he called it. 

“No, not always,” Matt replied. “Sometimes fishermen will come camp here for a week or two, and sometimes I’ll train another wickie, or something like that. Always something.” 

Brandon only nodded as a strange flash of emotion crossed his face. 

“You’re the best visitor I’ve ever had, though,” Matt declared, and that was it. Brandon beamed, clearly satisfied.

They spent the rest of the day pulling up crab traps out of the water and ate them boiled that evening. Brandon told Matt about his family, his parents and his siblings. The life he came from was beautiful, so beautiful and full and three-dimensional that he didn’t understand it, even though he tried.

He dreamed of swimming in a warm ocean that night. It was clear blue and peaceful- almost like floating in air. Brandon was there to take his hand with a smile. He hadn’t had a good dream like that in a long time.

___________________

Matt woke up to the sound of a hard rain. He groaned, made himself sit up in bed and rubbed his bleary eyes. “Brand-o, our luck has run out,” he mumbled, already longing for the sun.

Brandon didn’t respond. 

Matt slid out of bed, walking over to Brandon’s pile of cushions on the couch, where there was nothing but pillows. He was gone. 

“Brandon?” he called out to the room, to no response. 

His heart dropped. He didn’t want him to leave. Especially not without saying goodbye. 

Surely not. Surely he couldn’t already be-

He grabbed his rain slicker and started down the stairs, every step he took eerily similar to that morning when Brandon first washed up into his life. His boots started slipping on the metal steps, and he nearly fell in his hurry. 

Matt threw open the door at the bottom, stepping into the pouring rain without hesitation. He put his hands to his mouth and yelled Brandon’s name twice, but it was futile. The sound of the rain on the ground along with the sound of waves crashing on the shore was deafening. 

His chest heaved, and he tried to swallow down the panic that was quickly threatening to overtake him. 

Then, through the distance: a figure. It had to be. 

Matt pushed through the driving rain, pulling his slicker tight over his head. 

Brandon was standing barefoot on the rock, facing into the downpour. His hands were upturned, and water streamed down his face in heavy rivulets. 

“Brandon,” Matt shouted over the roar, his voice rough. “What are you doing?”

He turned to look down at him, and now Matt was close enough to see the delight on his face. 

“This is rain,” he gasped out, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” 

Brandon was soaked- his clothes were hanging heavy with water. Drops like crystals hung from his hair and eyelashes. He stretched his hands out further and took another shuddering breath before turning back to Matt. This was the most excited he’d seen him. Out here in the freezing rain. 

“I love this,” he admitted, like a confession.

Something about the scene made Matt’s heart break. Or no- not break, but something more painful and sharp, like his insides were being welded together. He hated weather like this. It made him think of awful things. But now as Brandon tenderly took his hand and turned it so that his palm faced skywards, his head was clear of everything but this very moment. 

Matt pushed the hood of his slicker back and let the rain fall on his head. Brandon laughed, delighted, and rubbed his hair which was drenched in minutes. Matt closed his eyes and let his head fall back. 

“See?” Brandon said, “You love this too.” 

“I love this,” he repeated. “I love this, too.” It was the truth.

___________________

It would be another fifteen minutes before Matt was able to drag Brandon back inside. After he started sniffing heavily, Brandon seemed to realize that only one of them was designed for cold water.

“C’mon,” Matt said, ushering him inside. “I’m freezing.” 

Brandon peeled off his sopping wet clothes without shame, down to his- well, really Matt’s- underwear. 

Matt tossed him a towel, the best he had, and it was pleasantly warm because he kept them near the stove. They dried off in silence. Matt was methodical about it, having repeated the motions in a hurry a thousand times. But Brandon- well. He’d taken the towel and wrapped it around himself, seemingly just enjoying the feeling of it. Whatever. Matt figured if he swam in an ocean that cold, there wasn’t any reason for him to hurry.

"Why is your leg like that?" Brandon asked when Matt was in the middle of buttoning up his shirt. He hadn’t gotten his pants on yet.

Matt's eyes shot down towards his leg, looking for anything amiss. He couldn't tell that there was anything unusual about it. "What do you mean?" 

Brandon stepped towards him, cautious. "Here," his fingertips brushed against his mid-thigh where his skin was still tan from the short but sunny summer, "is different than here." He traced upwards where his skin paled.

Matt’s breath caught in his chest. There was no way for him to know the cultural standards of personal space that Brandon was used to. He didn’t know if this was an intimate moment, or if he just wanted it to be. 

“When you stay out in the sun,” he finally responded, “sometimes your skin will get darker. So my shorts were here,” he said, pointing to the paler skin, “so this part didn’t get tan.” 

Brandon nodded, almost comically serious. “I think I want to have a tan, too.” 

“Oh man,” Matt snorted, “maybe you are mostly human after all.” 

Brandon missed the joke, but it didn’t matter. He laughed anyway.

___________________

A week passed.

“I can’t believe I forgot to show you this,” Matt groaned. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Brandon said from where he was peeling potatoes on the floor. He’d gotten comfortable quick. He’d even made his own cup of tea that morning. “Can’t be _that_ important.” 

He groaned again. He couldn’t help that he’d worn out his small record collection his first year on the island. In fact, he’d almost forgotten that he even had a record player. He flipped through the paper sleeves shoved between a side table and the wall with haste, picking out one with a red cover. These records were probably outdated when he brought them over, but it was fine. He wouldn’t know the difference. 

“There’s two things, actually. One is music. And the other,” Matt said dramatically, setting the shellac disc on the turntable, “is dancing.” 

Brandon nodded dutifully from below. “I know what dancing is, that’s-” 

He stopped short in shock when Matt dropped the needle down onto the record. The song started out with horns and bass with light percussion in the background, a bouncing tune that had Matt bobbing his head to the beat. 

“This is-” Brandon shook his head. “It’s-” 

“Don’t try to explain it,” Matt said gently, “Just come dance.” He extended a hand down to where Brandon was still sitting in wide-eyed shock and helped him up.

A growling tenor came in along with the sound of clarinets as Matt wrapped an arm around Brandon’s back, pulling him into the only dance position he knew. He moved Brandon’s arm to rest on his shoulder and took his hand, rocking him back and forth in time to the music. 

Brandon found the rhythm easily, and his face was pure joy. Matt mouthed along to the lyrics just to make him laugh, and they circled around the room with ease. He hadn’t danced like this in years, but it came back to him naturally with Brandon in his arms. 

The record had only just run out before Brandon was begging for him to put on another. This next one was something softer, piano with a clarinet solo before a female vocalist began crooning her wistful tune. This time, when Matt pulled Brandon into position, he closed the space between them and rest his head on Matt’s shoulder. 

The sounds of the ocean and rain hissing outside in the night mixed with the tinkling of piano keys, and Matt wondered if it was possible to feel any more content than he did in that moment, with Brandon stroking his hair while they swayed. 

“This makes me feel-” Brandon whispered in his ear, stopping short when he couldn’t find the words. 

Matt hugged him tighter. He didn’t have the words, either.

___________________

Another week later, Matt knew that their time had come to an end. He’d already started to drift to sleep when Brandon lifted the corner of the quilt and slid into bed with him. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.

Brandon ran a hand through the hair on his chest, pushing against the grain, his touch a question. When they were this close, it was clear to see that Matt was from the earth, all ruddy and calloused from years of working on land, and Brandon was made for the water, his body all smooth long lines. He brushed his fingers along the tan lines he couldn’t see but knew were there again, still fascinated. 

Matt laid his head on Brandon’s chest, and after settling there, he felt Brandon shift and kiss his forehead. 

“I have to leave tomorrow,” he sighed as he rubbed Matt’s back in a soothing motion. 

“I know,” Matt replied. Unexpected emotion swelled inside of him. “I don’t want you to.” 

Brandon was quiet for a while. Matt wasn’t sure if he’d just made things worse, but there was no point in trying to hide how he felt now. 

“What do you want?” Brandon asked, his voice as gentle as the waves lapping on the shore.

A vision of an impossible future became clear to him instantly. “I want to go to the mainland with you, show you everything there. And stay there with you.” A world that had seemed so ugly only weeks ago was now precious. There was so much life to be lived. He loved the sun, and the rain, and music, and he was pretty sure that he loved Brandon. Maybe he could start over. But now he was going back, and-

“Then tomorrow, I will tell my family what I have decided.” 

He stilled. “What do you mean, _what you have decided_?” 

“I mean, I will tell them that I want to stay on the mainland for a while. With you.” Brandon murmured. 

Matt sat up in bed. “Are you serious?” 

Brandon kissed him in answer. “We’ll figure it all out. But yes, I’m serious,” he beamed. “Oh, c’mon,” he laughed, pulling Matt back down to his chest. “Let me hold you. You can think about where we should go in the morning.” 

Matt couldn’t help but relax against him. They fell asleep slowly, warm and dry.

___________________

“Okay, I will be here when you get back,” Matt swore on the rocks, holding both of Brandon’s hands in his. He wished that he could swim out with him, at least a little ways.

“Just a few days. Probably four or five.” Brandon said, smiling gently.

Matt didn’t want to say goodbye, so he didn’t. He leaned up and kissed Brandon once, like a promise. 

The ocean foamed around Brandon’s ankles as he walked back, and small waves crashed against him as he went further and further away. He turned back once to wave towards Matt, and then he was gone with a splash. 

And on the fifth day, when Brandon stumbled back on the shore, Matt was there with a smile. 

“How does Cape Cod sound to you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Matt gets a job as a science teacher at a secondary school and Brandon does marine conservation work and they live happily together in a cottage on the beach. Brandon gets to go see his family frequently and eventually his parents come up to meet Matt and it's great.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [@fridgefishwrites](https://fridgefishwrites.tumblr.com)
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated!


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